


Strapped in Bliss

by Kaamos (reckless_love)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fisting, BDSM, Bottom Melkor, Fisting, Latex, M/M, Mairon POV, Modern AU, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, entirely mairon's point of view, fistfuck, latex elbow gloves, latex stocking and high heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reckless_love/pseuds/Kaamos
Summary: To his surprise, he finds himself wrist-deep into Melkor Bauglir.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	Strapped in Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. ANGBANG is my beautiful HELL.  
> 2\. Never wrote of fist-fucking before...I don't know if I nailed it.  
> 3\. Lately I have so few free time that it takes weeks and weeks to only write down a single sentence. But I can't live without angbang. I will NEVER drop it, no matter how difficult it becomes.  
> 4\. If anal-fisting and BDSM is not your dish, please, leave it to someone else.  
> 5\. Thank you, J♡.

“This is not what we agreed on,”, Mairon quietly states, “and if you speak again when not required, I will gag you”.

Beads of sweat glistening on his naked body. Arms crossed and tightly bounded above his head, hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he slowly adjusts himself to the intrusion. On his strong back with knees up, legs spread and bounded, hair down fluctuating like a black ocean of perdition with every movement – Melkor looks absolutely perfect like this.

Mairon is about to tell him how beautiful he is, but he doesn’t, still a bit annoyed for Melkor’s behaviour. He pushes in further, instead.

As expected, Melkor gasps. This time, though, he doesn’t say a word.

Mairon then pushes completely out of him, slowly withdrawing the over-the-elbow-gloved hand, gently adding an expected dose of pleasure, rubbing against his inner skin the shiny latex, which squeaks lightly with its peculiar sound.

He pours the lubricant onto his hand and spreads it around liberally, applying more all over Melkor’s entrance. One finger at a time he slowly enters him again, sliding them in and out, opening him up once again. When Melkor relaxes around him, slowly bringing his four fingers down around the thumb to form a fist, Mairon pushes in further the whole fist.

It doesn’t take so long before Melkor complains at it. Quietly this time he moans, though louder than the previous protest. Mairon goes for ignore it and pushes further in: five gloved fingers up to the second knuckle. There he stops for few seconds, admiring them almost disappeared inside of him: he likes that contrast, of black gloved hand against white skin. He gets past his second knuckles before Melkor’s soft panting intensifies, turning into desperate moans.

Mairon doesn’t want him to ride the wave of utter pleasure before he can fist him entirely. So that, he withdraws his hand wholly once again earning some of Melkor’s disappointed groans, and adds more lubricant, this time coating up to his black shining wrist.  
After that little pause, Melkor’s body looks now much more inviting, a lot more malleable now. Ever so slowly, Mairon fists him again, inserting the hand and keeping it sliding until he gets closer to the third knuckles again.

Rather than pushing on, he stops there and carefully rotates his hand to the right inclination. He gets back a satisfied moan, and his hand slowly keeps working its way in.

Melkor’s long hair makes a wave under his body’s shakes, but Mairon observes enraptured his eyes shut tight and his mouth shaped into a grimace of pleasure: barely in control of himself, Melkor looks even more attractive than he normally does. There is so little left of him in matter of pride, in matter of vanity, in matter of anger.

“I’m almost there, _Melkor_ ,”, Mairon softly whispers, in the way a lover could whispers soft words of delight.

It causes to Melkor to crack his eyes open in surprise and search for Mairon’s features over his knee. Or, perhaps, he simply liked it that way.

“You’re very sensitive to touch and,” he pauses, “you’re responding to me so perfectly”, Mairon prises him, and observes the brief smile on Melkor’s lips before the man closes the eyes again.

The effect of his voice is immediate: the vice-like grip around Mairon’s hand finally loosens up unconditionally. Mairon smirks consequently. With his free hand he lightly squeezes his own nipple, the effect of latex on his own skin priceless. And then he pushes again, this time meeting much less resistance. He watches in awe as his knuckles steadily disappears along with the man’s pride. Melkor moans, half screamed, and it is more pleasure than pain, but doesn’t struggle anymore against his bonds.

To his surprise, he finds himself wrist-deep into Melkor Bauglir.

Leaving his nipple with one last tug to reach out Melkor’s expanded chest, Mairon begins to rub his hand over his rippled body, causing Melkor to practically agonize for more strokes of his.His secret of the mastery of domination is bound up with granting a powerful connection, which ever works by gentleness. Mairon acquiesces running a covered finger along his cheekbones, admiring as Melkor’s pupils dilatate into oblivion, almost hiding the icy blue of his eyes. His moans turn into soft and deep purrs under his touch. It feels amazing.

“You know what come next”, Mairon speaks softly, but with no less of his usual methodical tone, and Melkor can nothing except willingly nodding.

He wants to see Melkor Bauglir begging for it, nothing more, nothing less.

Mairon takes hold Melkor’s hip with the free hand and slowly starts moving the buried one carefully twisting it. Slowly, he begins then to withdraw it. Melkor not even try to muffle the moans: at that point, Mairon thinks, he cannot and not even want to.

“How beautifully you are moaning for me”, Mairon whispers, thing that elicits even more moaning. Them, and the sound of latex positively delicious, as Mairon pulls his hand out of him entirely.

He coated the hand with the rest of the lube, a whole bottle almost gone, and forms his hand into a narrow fist at Melkor’s entrance. And there he awaits.

Melkor tries to mouth the word for good ten seconds before he eventually moans a soft “Please”.

Mairon from the top smiles. A sweet rush of ecstasy ripples his own body, in power and control with a simple word of dirty desire. He loves it, that glimpse which shows the paradoxical necessity inside of Melkor: there can be submission within _dominance_ —and dominance within _submission_. He finally fists him, slowly but with a steady peace, and finds out there is no resistance at all in Melkor’s muscles, and, once the fist is completely in, it is exceptionally natural to get in deeper. In any case, from the looks of it, Melkor is not going to last longer.

In and out Mairon thrusts, pushing in until Melkor deliciously tightens around the base of his wrist, and then pulling back again.

“Make me come”, Melkor begs moaning, impossible to him to resist further.

Mairon has on purpose ignored his huge cock until that moment. This, of course, doesn’t mean that he studied it not. It alternated between being soft and hard during most of the process, but since the moment he cuddled him, it definitely engorged; it now looks perfectly rock-hard, with the good chance of an immediate orgasm.

Like so, Mairon wraps the other gloved hand around his balls and pulls them upwards until he has a hold of his cock too. With careful and light stroking of his hand he soon makes him seeing stars, and still not allowing him to come, yet. Instead of thrusting in and out, he begins to twist his wrist around, creating different sensations. With each movement, in fact, Melkor’s muscles tense and relax, his muscular definition and glory amplified by the room lights. Mairon subtly changes positions using the knuckles on different internal spots. Some motions have to stimulate his prostate apparently, when he brings the fist in and out playing around the opening, pulling out of him so loud moans that Mairon fears for the integrity of his own wrist.

In Melkor’s eyes, which has been pointed and fixed on Mairon since the gentle magnification he gave him, Mairon could find adoration and absolute devotion towards him. He rewards him keeping up the same, slow pace, deliberately prolonging the incredibly embodied experience. His body rocks, while he gets stimulated from the inside, greedily riding waves of pleasure that Mairon is taking him on.

When Mairon abruptly stops —not for any wrist cramp by the way— he does it just because it is the right moment. For the second time, Mairon smiles at him: “Come for me, now”.

It has to feel amazing in a mix of confusing and so powerful. Intense, extremely intense with a lot of pressure everywhere inside of him, judging by his ecstatic state. His eyes roll back, losing the contact with Mairon’s, his entire body briefly tenses and trembles, likely feeling things that he didn’t know were possible from his own body.

When it happens, his lower muscles twitch under the orgasmic flow. When it happens, he contracts so hard around Mairon’s wrist that causes him to almost come. Almost, only because Mairon knows the best is yet to come. Wave after wave of pulses reverberate through Melkor as the orgasm rocks through him, and Mairon feels every single twitch, every single shake of it all around his gloved hand.

Once the orgasm is over, Mairon starts to withdraw the fist —little by little, slower than he got in— causing little shocks of pleasure inside of him. He then releases him untying the bonds around his body. When it comes to his arms, Melkor stretches them out with a sense of double relief.

Elegantly crossing at knee his exquisitely shaped legs in high latex stockings, Mairon sits down next to him. He takes the opportunity to run his fingers through his black long hair before his lips comes down over Melkor’s, and sucks on his tongue, ravaging his mouth, his kiss, telling him without words what he needs from him. And Melkor dares, demanding as ever, and scoops him into his arms, even steeling a little gasp of surprise from Mairon’s voluptuous lips.

He tilts his head on the side and adds a soft peck to his lips before whispering “Blow me”.

At that point, every single word of his is Melkor’s command.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ thank you for reading ♡


End file.
